


Heart of Stone, Heart of Clay

by muses_circle



Series: We All Fall series [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e12 Jus In Bello, F/M, Gen, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muses_circle/pseuds/muses_circle
Summary: What would it take to break down the walls that Sam Winchester erected around himself?
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: We All Fall series [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059086
Kudos: 1





	Heart of Stone, Heart of Clay

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 3x12 "Jus in Bello”. Also, most of this story came from listening to Jars of Clay’s album "Much Afraid".

“Dude, I’m telling you, Bela’s not even around this area.” Dean’s hard protests rang in Sam’s ears like a sour bell. Normally, Sam was the one to question the validity of the leads they got, but ever since Bela had conned her way into their lives – apparently for the sole purpose of taking their most prized possession – Sam had to admit that even Dean was gung-ho about any new information on her whereabouts.  
  
So the fact that his older brother thought that their latest lead might have run dry irritated Sam; it wasn’t his fault that their informant was a 300-pound redneck who spat tobacco while he spoke.  
  
Sam shuddered at the memory and focused instead on the brand new homes that dotted the coastline in Biloxi, Mississippi. He was pleased to find that civilization was returning to this area: that meant life was moving on. And where there was life, there was hope . . . right?  
  
“Earth to Sam,” Dean said, interrupting Sam’s thoughts.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Sam turned to his brother. “But she went west,” he complained. “Don’t you think she would’ve stopped off in New Orleans? That place is like Mecca for con artists.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “It’s still a weak lead, Sam. I mean, how much can you really trust a trucker-hunter named Bubba?”  
  
Secretly, Sam knew that his brother was right. Bobby had told them that the trucker dude wasn’t the most reliable source. More often than not, ‘Bubba’ Paul Griggs liked to weave stories and lead other hunters on wild goose chases. Probably because he had nothing better to do while stuck in his eighteen-wheeler, crossing the country alone, to make an extra buck between hunts. “He was the only word we’ve had on Bela in weeks,” Sam insisted.  
  
Dean let out a bark of laughter. “The dude had a set of antlers attached to the front of his semi. You really wanna listen to a guy like that?”  
  
Sam shrugged and pretended to stare intently ahead at the familiar strip of highway. The midday sun shone brightly, and despite the fact that it was wintertime on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, the sky was blue and cloudless. “It’s that or nothing, dude. Not like Bobby or any of his contacts can find her. So you got any better ideas?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said and smirked. “I’m dropping you off at Emma’s place.”  
  
“What?” Sam spluttered and looked askance at Dean. “We’re not here for a visit.”  
  
“Who says?”  
  
“ _I_ do. Weren’t you the one who wanted to have a little talk with Bela once you got the Colt back?”  
  
Dean glanced at Sam and rolled his eyes. “And there’s plenty of time for that, Sammy. Besides, I know you’ve been thinking about your hot Southern girlfriend the second Bubba the Trucker told us Bela had been spotted in New Orleans.”  
  
Sam sucked in a frustrated breath. He’d wanted to see Emma the second they got wind of Bela wheeling and dealing in some backwater town along the Mississippi state line. Assuming she was headed for the Crescent City, Sam told Dean to haul ass along Interstate 10 West. They were working: the fact that he knew Emma was in Gulfport – home on break from promoting her new paranormal book – and teaching a couple classes had nothing to do with it.  
  
“Think what you like, Dean, but you’re not dropping me off at her place.”  
  
“Why the hell not?” his brother demanded. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of her since that hunt here.”  
  
“That’s none of your damn business,” Sam said and glared at Dean.  
  
Clearly, his glower was amusing, because Dean’s laughter resounded throughout the Impala. “Hell yeah, it is, because if you insist on acting just like me, you gotta know when to take some shore leave. And _you_ , my brother, need some shore leave.”  
  
“I so don’t want to have this conversation,” Sam grumbled.  
  
“Tough. You’ve been about as friendly as a Striga looking for its next meal lately, and I figured you’re still moping over whatever happened in that time loop.”  
  
Sam slunk down in his seat and crossed his arms. Dean had something there. Ever since his encounter with the Trickster – having to watch Dean die every way imaginable, knowing what it would be like without his brother around – Sam had been more quiet than usual. Brooding over what could be and wondering if any of it was worth it. He knew Dean was worried, but there was no way Sam would ever tell his brother the hell he’d gone through. Sam would take that to his grave.  
  
“Come on, Sam,” Dean said, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. “This ‘sucking on a lemon’ act isn’t going to win you any brownie points with Emma.”  
  
“Who said I was trying to?”  
  
“Whatever. Isn’t her condo nearby or something?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Good. So I’ll drop you off and be back in a few hours. Will that let you . . . blow off some steam?”  
  
Sam didn’t want to feel the flicker of pleasure that thought brought to mind, nor should the memory of being around her bring him peace from his turbulent thoughts. “If she’s even home . . .” He frowned, refusing to acknowledge Dean’s blatant suggestion. If he was going to see Emma, there were other things he wanted to do besides getting laid. More than anything, Sam wanted to talk to her. Maybe she had some insight or new information to share with him on getting Dean out of his deal.  
  
While he hadn’t exactly spoken to her in a few months, Sam knew from her texts and emails that she’d been diligently working on a solution. The only problem was, if Bobby’s well had run dry, what were the odds of Emma finding anything? He knew she was an excellent researcher, but some things just couldn’t be found.  
  
“Don’t you still have her number?” Dean asked.  
  
Snorting, Sam pulled out his cell phone and located her number. “You’re just not going to let this go, are you?” he asked. As he hit the ‘send’ button and heard the other line ring, Sam felt his brother’s eyes on him and understood exactly what was happening. It was the _just in case_ scenario. Just in case Dean didn’t make it. Just in case he died . . . Dean was trying to let Sam know that there were other ways to keep on going.  
  
Dean didn’t say anything, but words weren’t necessary: Sam smiled and glanced at his brother. Then he heard Emma’s voice on the other end. “Hello?”  
  
“Hey Emma, it’s Sam,” he said, the smile on his face becoming larger as he imagined her – laid back on the couch, hair falling in waves around her face as she read her favorite book and paused to grab the phone . . . the way her face lit up, the grin when she realized he was calling . . .  
  
“Sam? Oh hey!” she said, shaking him from his pleasant daydream. Sam could hear the smile in her voice. “How ya doin’, _cher_?”  
  
“Great,” he lied, hoping his voice was steady enough to fool her. “Dean and me, we’re passing through town and wanted to stop by and see how things are going.”  
  
“Smooth,” Dean whispered, his amusement evident.  
  
Sam shot him a look.  
  
“Things are great, but I’d really like to see you if y’all are around,” Emma said.  
  
A familiar ache settled around his heart, but Sam pushed it away. He had no time for emotions to get in the way. “Are you at home?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah, just doing mundane things like laundry.” She paused. “Been looking for an excuse for a break.”  
  
Sam couldn’t keep the smile off his face at the suggestion. “So you wouldn’t mind if we’re five minutes from your place?”  
  
She laughed, and that pleasant ache was suddenly back again “Not at all. Just come on in when you get here. See ya in a few, Sam.”  
  
With a quick goodbye, Sam ended the call and pocketed his phone, and he stopped fighting it, allowing himself to feel the anxious anticipation at the thought of seeing her again. The he remembered Dean was driving and turned to find a knowing smirk on his brother’s face. “I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking,” Sam warned.  
  
“I don’t have to think anything,” Dean said and laughed. “Your face says it all.”  
  


  
  
As he and Dean pulled into Emma’s condominium complex, Sam noticed that Emma was standing in her doorway, apparently watching for him. His lips quirked into a smile: it had been a long time since someone was so happy to see him that she was literally waiting for him at the door. Not since Jessica . . .  
  
“Seems like she’s got the same thing on her mind,” Dean said.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and opened the door once Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot. “Go take your dirty mind out on someone else, okay?”  
  
“Oh, hit a nerve, didn’t I?”  
  
Ignoring his brother, Sam got out and slammed the door shut to emphasize his point. Sam had begun to think that Dean was way too invested in certain aspects of his life. He wondered why the hell he bothered; it wasn’t like he could ever go back to the way things were when he was at Stanford. He didn’t even know who that college kid was anymore.  
  
Nevertheless, he turned to watch the Impala squeal out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Despite Dean’s claims that he wanted to live, the eldest Winchester was acting more reckless than ever. Almost as if he was so scared that Sam would fail in finding him a way out – why not party like there’s no tomorrow when you might not have one?  
  
Now wasn’t the time to think about his brother’s issues, though, not when Emma was waiting for him. Sam turned on his heel and headed up the steps, trying hard not to run up them and catch her up in his arms. That made him feel awkward which forced him to move even slower than usual. He’d missed her: the smile that lit up her face, the dark eyes that seemed to look straight through him, the brilliant mind behind the beautiful face and body.  
  
It wasn’t until his eyes connected with hers that Sam felt the pangs of arousal hit him. _God, he’d missed her._ She was watching him like a hunter watched prey. Unfortunately, no matter what he felt, Sam wasn’t sure he wanted anything from her but a couple hours’ conversation. The last time they had seen each other, Dean was dead and Sam was hell-bent on revenge. He’d completely shut her out of his life because his sense of vengeance had overridden everything else that was important to him.  
  
But then he realized that none of that actually happened. Emma didn’t remember meeting him and learning of Dean’s death, because technically, it never happened. All those Tuesdays, those six months spent hunting down the Trickster; they’d been erased when the demi-god had brought Dean back to life. Aside from knowing the basics – Dean’s deal, the death of his mother’s friends and family, and the demon named Ruby – Emma was in the dark about most of their hunts. Sam thought it was better that way. It was bad enough that Dean was probably going to meet his demise in a bloody, awful way: Sam couldn’t afford to lose anyone else who mattered to him.  
  
As he reached the top of the steps and smiled down at her, Sam understood that she _did_ mean a lot to him – what a dangerous thought -feelings he couldn’t afford to have, since his enemies would no doubt try to use that against him. Look at how they’d gone after Dean.  
  
“Sam,” Emma said, her melodic Southern accent cutting through his thoughts. “Long time no see.”  
  
“Yeah,” he agreed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The air between them crackled with awareness, along with another sentiment better left unaddressed. “It’s been awhile, I know.”  
  
She held up a hand. “Hey, y’all’ve been busy, _cher_. Not like I really expected to ever see you again.” She stepped back and ushered him inside. “I take it things have been rough?”  
  
_You have no idea._ “Something like that,” he said and sat down on her sofa, taking off his jacket as he did. He felt a trickle of sweat slide along his back and wondered why he suddenly felt so hot despite the cool winter afternoon.  
  
“So . . . want something to drink?” Her voice sounded hesitant. The awkwardness between them was palpable, and Sam mentally squirmed under the pressure.  
  
“Sure,” he replied and turned around to watch her move towards the refrigerator. Ever graceful, her hips swayed rhythmically with her walk, provocative and unassuming at the same time. Kind of like Emma, Sam thought. “Got any beer?”  
  
“Is the Pope Catholic?” she joked and grabbed two longnecks out of the fridge. She opened them both and handed one to Sam before sitting down across from him on her loveseat.  
  
They drank in silence for a few minutes, and Sam wondered if Emma felt as awkward as he did. After all, several months had passed since they’d laid eyes on each other. It was one thing talking on the phone, exchanging emails. But after everything Sam had experienced since parting from Emma, he wondered whether trying to maintain any kind of contact would be good for either of them.  
  
Sam winced. How could he open up his mouth and say, _Since we parted ways, I’ve been using Ruby for info because she claims she can release Dean from his deal, I almost became some pagan god’s lunch, and nearly got beaten down by a demon hoard. And did I mention some powerful new demon named Lilith wants me dead?_  
  
Why subject her to the horror that was his life?  
  
“Ya know, Sam, keep glaring at me like that, and I might actually turn into a pillar of salt.”  
  
Her soft but sarcastic words jerked him out of his dark thoughts. “Sorry,” he whispered and took another swallow of his beer.  
  
“What’s going on, anyway? You don’t look like you’re here for a social call.”  
  
“Just passing through.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“It’s . . . a long story, Emma.”  
  
She smiled. “Well hell, I got time to kill. Not like I have to leave for class or anything.”  
  
Sam remained silent for a moment. She wanted to talk; and about him, which wasn’t something he was sure he was prepared to do. “How was the book tour?” he asked instead and gave her a small smile.  
  
But Emma wasn’t fooled and gave him a look. “Don’t change the subject, Sam.”  
  
“Maybe I’d rather hear about you,” he said.  
  
“Why? Because I have a nice, normal, _boring_ life?”  
  
_Yes_ , he thought. “No. Because I’m here. In person. Who knows when that’ll happen again?” _Or even if it’ll happen again . . ._  
  
Emma put her beer bottle down on the side table and stood up. In a matter of seconds, she was seated next to Sam, her hand on his arm, and staring at him intently. “Don’t say that. We’re friends, right? So we’ll see each other, _cher_. Even if it means me hopping on a plane to come see you.”  
  
Sam frowned. “I’d never ask you to do anything like that.”  
  
“But I _would_ ,” she protested, a warmth in her eyes that Sam had never seen before. “I’d do that for a friend. For someone I care about. So what’s got you talking like we’ll never see each other again?”  
  
“Nothing, just – ”  
  
“Is it Ruby?” she persisted. “Has she done something? What’s happened on your hunts lately? Last I heard, you thought Ruby had a way to save Dean. Have you found out anything?” Her eyes blazed with unspoken curiosity and worry, like she wanted to help carry his burden.  
  
Part of him wanted her to stop asking: he didn’t want to relive the nightmares of the last few months. Couldn’t tell her how he was a wanted man in the demonic community, that a rogue leader wanted control so badly that it thought Sam a threat and wanted him eliminated. What if the thing was tracking him now and knew about his past with Emma? Why not keep her in the dark?  
  
Running a hand through his hair, Sam stood up and carried his empty beer bottle into the kitchen. “It’s been a really long year, Emma,” he said, unable to turn around and look at her. Putting his hands on the bar, he leaned in and bowed his head. “And I don’t know if I should tell you.” He shook his head: the intensity he’d seen in her eyes was too much for him to handle. Maybe being here was a bad idea, he thought. Clearly Emma meant what she said: she’d be willing to drop everything for him, for a friend. She’d told him in so many words that he could count on her for anything. Sam thought of Dean – of that ‘just in case’ scenario – and wished he had all the answers. To save Dean. To put Emma’s mind at ease. To be normal again – whatever that meant.  
  
The thoughts swirled in his mind like a hurricane, loud and pounding. Sam was so lost in the whirwind that he hadn’t heard Emma move. When soft, warm hands smoothed down his back, he nearly jumped. He took a moment to put on his game face and turned around to find Emma right in front of him, her hands moving as his body turned so that her palms were pressed against his chest. Dark, intelligent eyes watched him closely – a hint of worry behind them, though the firm set of her jaw suggested Emma had decided to mask her true feelings and reach out in comfort.  
  
He stood there, letting her touch him, trying to relax. Shutting his eyes, Sam willed himself to _feel_ – Emma’s fingers stroking his forearms and trailing up his neck. Her hands running through his long, shaggy hair. The soft tug on his hair as her fingers played with the curls. He sucked in a shaky breath, not wanting to feel the tide of sensations she evoked.  
  
Nevertheless, Sam became aware of the stirring of arousal her touch generated and wondered if that was her intention. Her hands slowly moved to his cheeks, cupping them, and he leaned into her caresses. Of their own volition, his arms sought out Emma’s curvy frame, settling his hands onto her hips and pulling her closer into the warmth of his body. She pressed against him willingly.  
  
“Sam,” she whispered, and he opened his eyes at the longing he heard. Her face tilted up towards his, vulnerable and open. Giving and demanding. Seeking comfort and offering it.  
  
With a low growl in his throat, he leaned down and covered her mouth with his in a passionate kiss. Desire flooded his veins when she deepened the kiss, their mouths meeting in a hurried mating dance. She clearly wanted him: the fact that her hands had already slipped underneath his t-shirt spoke of her impatience. He smiled against her lips and pulled away from her long enough to pick her up into his arms. When he heard her frustrated sigh, he asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”  
  
“I was kinda hoping to start with some quality one-on-one time in bed,” she whispered and nibbled on his earlobe. “What do you say?”  
  
Groaning, Sam strode quickly down the hallway and into her bedroom. “I’d like that.” There was no way he’d ever admit he had been looking forward to this ever since he walked into her life again.  
  


  
  
They must have fallen asleep afterwards, because Emma opened her eyes to find the shadows of the evening creeping into her room. Yawning, she smiled a little and stretched before turning over to regard Sam lying next to her.  
  
She propped her head up with her hand and watched him sleep. The lines of worry that had covered his face were smoothed, and he slept deeply, a quirk of a smile on his lips. _When was the last time he’d slept?_ she asked herself, lightly tracing the outline of his mouth with her fingertip. _What’s got him so worked up and anxious?_  
  
Sam wasn’t the kind of man who opened up easily; Emma knew this. In fact, both Winchesters suffered from being the strong, silent type. But something compelled Sam to stop without warning, and she wished more than anything to know what was going on.  
  
Their lovemaking had been quick and sloppy: two bodies straining together to mate, to wipe out the rest of the world, to lose themselves in each other for a little while. And while Emma felt sated – her body still warm from Sam’s caresses – she wondered whether his self-imposed isolation would reappear once he woke up.  
  
Suddenly his lips moved beneath her gentle touch, and Emma looked into Sam’s eyes, sleepy yet awake. Though she could see the burden he carried there, the hint of a twinkle lay just beneath the surface. Her lips quirked into a seductive smile. “Feeling . . . better?” she asked.  
  
“Depends,” he replied and moved his fingers across her cheek, tracing lazy patterns.  
  
“On what?”  
  
“On whether you’re okay with this.”  
  
“Please, Sam. I totally seduced you. It’s not like I’ve had a lot of opportunities to get laid.”  
  
Sam gave her a heated look as he turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Happy to help you out,” he quipped softly.  
  
“Not like _that_. I meant that, I really wanted you to relax. Totally relax. And if that included making love, so much the better.” The moment turned awkward when silence descended between them; she opened her mouth to speak again but kept silent. The last thing she wanted to be say something lame and pathetic simply because an old flame came back to visit her.  
  
_When was Sam Winchester ever an old flame? Wouldn’t that mean I had to have feelings for him to begin with?_  
  
“Mission accomplished. You did a hell of a job.”  
  
“Good. So how about we eat something, and you can tell me about the other reason why you’re here.” She started to sit up and get out of bed, but Sam’s arms wrapped around her and prevented her from moving away.  
  
“No,” he whispered. “Stay.” He kept his arms locked around her and settled her on her side, so that they faced each other.  
  
With a happy laugh, Emma leaned in and kissed him quickly. “Okay,” she whispered and snuggled against him, resting her hands on his chest. The regular yet fast thump against her palm told her Sam was nervous. “So talk to me already, or I’ll have to resort to even more desperate measures.”  
  
A rumble of laughter resounded in Sam’s chest. “As much as I like the idea of that, Dean’ll probably be here in a little while to pick me up.”  
  
The thought of Sam leaving again made her sad, but Emma refused to dwell on it. After all, she knew that was inevitable. No use in imagining how life would change if Sam ever decided to stay. “Y’all have to leave because . . . ?” she prompted.  
  
“Because someone – a con artist – stole something very valuable and we’re trying to track her down and steal it back.”  
  
“Her?” Emma asked, a little surprised.  
  
Sam nodded and launched into a lengthy monologue of the things he and Dean had been through, and Emma could only listen, speechless. She rested her head against his muscled chest and listened to the intense beating of his heart while he spoke of Bela Talbot and how she’d conned her way into a case, stole a demon-killing weapon and disappeared. Then about how their war against the demons had gotten infinitely worse.  
  
Emma noticed something in Sam’s voice, a hint of caution, as if he was deliberately glossing over some things. He had pulled away as he spoke, wrapped himself in a barrier, and shut her out of some aspect of his life he didn’t want her to see.  
  
If she didn’t know any better, she could’ve sworn Sam was _afraid_. Not of the hunt, the things they’d hunted, or even the demons that were no doubt chasing them. Not even of this woman who had made their lives more difficult, or the implications that came with making nice with a demon.  
  
“So you and your friend Bobby . . . y’all haven’t figured out a way to save Dean from . . .?” she asked softly when he fell quiet. Moving back from him just a bit, she looked up and saw the despair and depression etched into his face for a second.  
  
He shook his head and gazed at her. His hazel green eyes burned with the intensity only someone on the brink of desperation could understand, and though Emma watched his face smooth into an emotionless mask, nothing could completely cover the sadness in his eyes.  
  
It was much more than Sam not wanting his brother to die and go to hell. Emma honestly believed that _Sam didn’t want to be alone_. And when Dean was dragged into hell, Sam would be the only surviving member of his family.  
  
Her heart sank as the meaning behind this visit sank in: Dean wanted Sam to be here, to let Sam know that he wasn’t totally alone. Sam had _her_ – whatever that meant. The only thing was, Sam didn’t know it.  
  
Emma’s heart pounded in her breast over this revelation and she hoped that Sam couldn’t hear it. Her hand moved up his arm to caress the hair at the nape of his neck, but he seemed so lost in thought that he didn’t acknowledge the small attempts she made to comfort him.  
  
“Sam,” she whispered to get his attention. When he blinked and focused on her once again, she continued. “What about Ruby? Didn’t she say that she knew how to save Dean?”  
  
He nodded slightly. “Yeah, she did,” he replied.  
  
“So . . . how come she’s not being all forthright about it?”  
  
The question seemed to throw him off his guard, because he slipped out of her embrace and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Been too busy fighting demons to think about that,” he admitted. “It’s a _scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours_ kind of thing, anyway.”  
  
“Sounds to me like she’s playing you, Sam,” Emma pointed out and sat up, wrapping the sheet around her torso to cover herself.  
  
His shoulders lifted in a soft sigh. “Maybe she is,” he admitted, “but I know what I’m doing. We’re at war: why not use someone in the enemy’s camp for information?”  
  
Thinking just like a general, she thought and watched his back shift as he stood up and began to shift through the pile of clothing on the floor for his jeans and underwear. As she watched him, took in the perfection of his male body – the muscles, the power he exuded – Emma wished there was some way she could go with him, something she could do that would prove useful. But with the way he avoided looking at her, she felt like she had failed him. Despite her best efforts, she had only made things harder for Sam.  
  
“I want to help you,” she said and climbed out of bed, letting the sheet fall. She walked to her dresser and grabbed a pair of shorts and t-shirt to put on. “There’s gotta be something I can do to help, _cher_.” She yanked the top over her head and opened her eyes to find Sam watching her closely, barely-concealed lust in his eyes.  
  
“Watching you dress is definitely helping,” he said with a crooked grin and made her heart flip in her chest.  
  
_Dammit, he’s flirting with me._ “And I thought ripping my clothes off was so much more interesting,” she joked and let her eyes travel across Sam’s still-bare chest. Who knew when she’d get the opportunity to see him again, must less in this state of undress?  
  
“That’s number one on the list,” Sam said and pulled his t-shirt over his head.  
  
“Look, I’m not the greatest researcher on the supernatural, but I’m getting better everyday. It’s incredible what I’ve learned in just the past six months. I’d really like to be some kind of help when you need it.”  
  
“Be my Geek Girl or something?” Sam asked with a smile.  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
“I don’t know if that’d be such a great idea, Em.”  
  
And there went the stone wall, firmly planted again between them and the sense that Sam was withholding something from her felt so real that it was like a slap in the face. For whatever reason, Sam wanted to keep something from her. A _big_ something. She doubted she’d ever get it out of him, not unless he was truly desperate.  
  
That didn’t stop her from crossing her arms over her breasts and frown. “Why not?”  
  
“Just trust me when I say it wouldn’t. But there is something you could do,” Sam continued, interrupting any protest she might have sounded. He grabbed a pen and paper from on top of her small desk in the corner and scribbled something on it. “Call this man.” He handed the slip of paper to her.  
  
_Bobby Singer._ Underneath the name was a phone number. Emma looked at Sam and cocked an eyebrow. “This is your friend Bobby? The guy you’re always talking about?” she asked.  
  
Sam nodded. “He’s got a ton of connections, and I figured if anything ever happens . . .” He let his words trail away and let the hopelessness of his meaning swallow up the moment.  
  
“Don’t wanna hear that kind of talk, Winchester.” Emma tried to glower at him, but the look on his face told her that she probably looked sad instead of irritated. _So_ not what she was going for.  
  
“It’s just a precaution. Besides, I’m sure he could use extra help with some of his hunts. He’s always using other people to get information.”  
  
“From what I understand, Bobby knows everything. How could I possibly help him?”  
  
The ghost of a smile flitted across Sam’s lips. “Believe me when I say you can. Just promise me you’ll keep yourself safe.”  
  
_How can I promise that when I don’t even know whether you’re going to do the same?_ “Only if you keep me posted,” she said and closed the distance between them. “You stop calling, and I’ll hunt you down.”  
  
There was a moment’s hesitation, as if Sam wanted to protest her not-so-idle threat, but it passed as the smile turned into a smirk. “Think you’re good enough to track me?”  
  
“You don’t know everything about me, ya know.” Inside, Emma admitted that she wished there was a way that they could be together long enough for them to get to know each other better – in a friends-only sense, she hastily reminded herself. As it was, Sam had finished dressing and looked like he was two minutes away from saying goodbye.  
  
As if on cue, the blare of an impatient car horn resounded faintly in the room. “That’s Dean,” he whispered and shoved his hands into his pockets.  
  
Heart heavy and hurting, Emma nodded faintly and took a couple steps towards him. “So . . . how do we say goodbye?”she asked and looked at him directly.: Memorizing his features and trying not to hang onto the regret and longing that beat through her like a bass drum. Why did she keep falling for tall, handsome, unavailable men?  
  
Her head pounded in time with her heart at that thought. _No, I don’t want that_ , Emma thought. _There’s no future there: if Sam can’t save Dean, who knows what’ll become of him? Not like he’d come back to me, right? So just forget about it._ She beat back the wave of feeling and maintained eye contact with the man mere inches from her. The fact that he looked as miserable as she felt was only slightly heartening – he seemed to understand that their friendship would be nothing more than that.  
  
Wordlessly, Sam reached for her and pulled her into a warm, tight embrace. She rubbed her nose into his chest and inhaled the intoxicating scent of Sam’s body, something uniquely masculine that she wanted to bottle up as a memory to cherish.  
  
They remained there for several moments before parting ways and with a soft kiss and one last teasing tug on her hair, Sam left Emma standing there in her bedroom. Seconds passed and she heard her front door shut softly behind her. Sam Winchester was gone out of her life once more, he and Dean going back to a business of demon hunting and winning wars she had only tasted.  
  
“Godspeed,” she whispered and looked down at Bobby Singer’s number. Her time with Sam only made her thoughts race with a million questions about the things he’d either glossed over or neglected to mention. She wondered if Sam’s friend Bobby could help her fill in the blanks. Perhaps offering her services as a contact person might reap some benefits.  
  
Without a moment’s hesitation, she darted from her bedroom and back into the living room, straight for her cell phone. Looking at the number to Bobby Singer, Emma dialed it and paced around waiting for someone to answer.  
  
“Hey, Bobby? This is Emma Boudreaux. Maybe you heard of me . . .”


End file.
